


Paper Tears

by Sholio



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-05
Updated: 2001-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisoka reflects on his life and the changes in his relationships with other people, particularly Tsuzuki. Takes place after the Kyoto story arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Tears

I can hear them as I walk down the street, the unguarded thoughts of the people around me:

_Look at him..._

Such cold eyes...

Better not get near a person like that...

I can shut them out better than I once could, but it still hurts, a little bit, the way they look at me.

I remember a time when it didn't hurt at all. Their thoughts were an unwanted annoyance, battering at my self-erected shields. So I made better and stronger shields, until no stray thought or emotion could slip by them. Only physical human contact could break through my barriers, but that wasn't a problem. No one wanted to touch me.

Except one person...

My barriers have been weakening lately, and I know who is responsible.

"Can I help you, young man?"

The woman in the flower shop smiles at me, a friendly smile but slightly reserved. I smile back at her, trying to look warm and approachable. I just don't know how. I haven't had any practice.

"Yes, I'd like some advice, please. I need to buy some flowers for a sick friend, and I don't know what kind are appropriate."

"Is it a very close friend?" the woman asks, winking at me.

"Yes, it's  oh, no, not the way you mean." I blush, stumbling and trying to recover. I still have so little practice at figuring out what people mean when they don't speak plainly. You'd think an empath would be good at reading the meaning behind people's words, but sometimes it's like trying to read a book in a language you don't understand. You can see all the words, but they don't mean anything... "It's a male friend."

"Does he have a favorite kind of flower?"

"Anything but roses." I think for a minute. "Oh, and camellias probably wouldn't be good either. Some bad memories there, I think."

"We have some nice get-well bouquets over here." The woman shows me, and after some thought I decide on a bright, sunny bouquet of daisies, sunflowers and other cheerful kinds  after checking it through carefully for any flowers that Tsuzuki might have had a bad experience with.

"I hope your friend gets better soon," the woman says, wrapping the flowers up for me.

"Yes. So do I."

Her fingers brush mine when I hand her the money, and I catch a brief flash of her thoughts: _He seems so cold, but he's really a nice boy, after all._ I have to suppress a smile. "Keep the change," I tell her.

"Oh  thank you, young man!"

"Have a nice day," I add, because Tsuzuki would probably say something like that. Normally I'd just walk off. Lately I've been consciously trying to change those deeply embedded habits, but I have to think about it. Most people say "Hi" and "How are you" and "Fine, thanks" without having to stop and think. For me, it's an effort. Not too long ago, just a half an hour or so of interacting with strangers would leave me as worn out as if I'd run a marathon. Now I'm almost starting to enjoy it, for short periods of time, at least.

The world is not such a cold, frightening place as I once thought. There are nice people in it, after all.

I tuck the flowers into the bag in my arms with the chocolates I bought earlier. Tsuzuki probably couldn't care less about getting flowers, but I know he'll appreciate the candy.

"Hey! Kid!"

I spin around, my heart jumping up into my throat. _I guess I'm still a bit of a suspicious bastard..._ But it's only Watari. His arms are full of packages, with his little pet owl perched on top, fluttering its wings occasionally to keep its balance. His long blond hair streams in the breeze.

"Hi there, kid! Out shopping, huh?"

I nod. "You, too?"

Watari shrugs, almost sending the top packages cascading into the street. The owl hangs on with its talons and gives him an annoyed glare. "I needed some supplies. I can mail-order a lot of stuff, but some of it has to be bought in person."

Some of the packages are kind of lumpy. I decide that I don't want to know what's in them.

"So what have you got there, kid?" He grins. "Flowers, ne? Do you have a girl?"

Watari's a nice guy, but sometimes he's really annoying. "No. They're for Tsuzuki-san."

"Oh." A little of the bounce leaves him. "How's he doing?"

"He's..." I start to lie and say that he's fine, then decide that I shouldn't; Watari is Tsuzuki's friend, too. "He smiles a lot, like he always does, but he's still having a hard time dealing with ... everything."

"I'll have to come by and cheer him up." Watari smiles suddenly. "I have this invention I've been working on"

"No!"

He looks crestfallen. "Don't you want to hear about it? I'm sure Tsuzuki would love to see it. See, I started with the motor from an old vacuum cleaner and added"

"Maybe later." I do _not_ want to know where this is going. "I'm sure he'd like to see you, though. It seems like everyone came by when we first got back, but since then, people have been avoiding us. At least Tsuzuki thinks so. I can't tell."

Watari looks hurt. "I didn't mean to. I just don't think... I mean, I even sleep in my lab. I didn't think..." He brightened up. "I can come by later today, after I drop these off. How about that?"

"Sounds good." Knowing him, he'll probably find something fascinating while he's unpacking and forget about everything else for a week. I suppose Tsuzuki would like to see him, though. Maybe I'll go remind him, if he doesn't show up.

We say goodbye and I start walking back.

Tsuzuki is awake when I come in  he always seems to be awake these days. I haven't seen him sleep since everything happened with Muraki. That bastard... I know he's alive somewhere, probably going cheerfully about his psychopathic business and not suffering a single qualm of conscience, while Tsuzuki is dying inside because of what Muraki's put him through. Once, I wanted to kill Muraki because of what he'd done to me. Now I want to kill him for what he's done to Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki looks up and smiles when he sees me, but the smile doesn't quite reach all the way into his purple eyes. "Hi! Hey, today's my day for visitors. Tatsumi was just here."

"Tatsumi? Really?" I still can't figure out how deep Tatsumi's feelings for Tsuzuki really are. I guess I'd know if I ever touched him, but I don't want to. Some things are private.

"It was good to see him. It seems like I don't see many people anymore." Tsuzuki looks up at me quickly. "Oh, I mean  I'm not trying to lay a guilt trip on you or anything. I know it must be a drag to come down here. I'll be out of the infirmary soon , you know."

"I know," I tell him, but I wonder. I've long since recovered from the effects of the fire, and I don't think Tsuzuki was hurt that much worse than I was. He won't admit it, but I think he feels safer in here. When he goes back out into the world, he's going to have to face people again. He'll have to do his job, the job he hates even though I think he's better at it than any of the other shinigami. Better, because of the compassion he feels for the people whose lives he must take.

"I ... went shopping today and got a few things." I stick the bag in his face before he can go off on some kind of misery trip and before I get to thinking about things I don't want to think about.

"Oh  for me? You really shouldn't..." He trails off as he gets underneath the flowers and sees the chocolates. I figured as much.

I go looking for water to put the flowers in, while he digs into the candy. When I get back, he's finished half the box.

"Have you been eating? Have you had breakfast today?"

"I have." He smiles at me through a mouthful of chocolate. "I have, really. Well, not today, maybe. I wasn't hungry." He swallows, as if the candy has turned to rocks in his mouth, and looks away.

I sit down beside him on the bed. He sets the box of candy aside, without looking at me. He swallows again, and covers his face with his hands.

I place my hand on his shoulder, sharing his pain, wishing that I could do more than just feel it along with him. I would like to take it away. I would gladly bear this torment instead of him.

When did touching Tsuzuki get so easy? I remember what it was like the first time he ever touched me, when I'd first met him. It was like having an emotional freight train slam into my brain. I lashed out hard enough to knock him off his feet and burn his hand, but I didn't care  I just didn't ever want that man to come near me again. I'd never met anyone who experienced such raw, uncontrolled emotions. I remember thinking, once I'd calmed down: _If it hurts that much for me to peek into his mind, what must it be like for him to live there?_

But it's strange  though he's no less emotional than he ever was, putting my hand on his shoulder now is like slipping into a warm, familiar place. I don't mind the touch of Tsuzuki's thoughts. Sometimes I wish that it wasn't so one-sided, that he could touch mine back. The intimacy of that thought used to frighten me. It doesn't frighten me anymore. I don't think anything will frighten me again. I've been through the most frightening experience I can ever imagine: watching Tsuzuki consumed by the fire that even Shinigamis can't withstand. But at the moment I jumped into that fire, I wasn't afraid, just as I wasn't afraid when I confronted Oriya with my sword. All I was thinking about was Tsuzuki. Nothing else mattered.

I feel his shoulder shake under my hand as he weeps silently. Tsuzuki cries often  but it's almost a casual thing with him, those hysterical tears, part of the way he interacts with the world. This is different. I don't know if anyone else who knows him has seen him cry like this.

And all I can do is leave my hand on his shoulder. I can do nothing else for this man who took me out of darkness and gave me a reason to live. All I can do is the one thing I can do with no one else  touch him.

After a few moments, he raises his hand and places it over mine, the fingers wet with his tears. And that's when I know it's all right. The one thing I can do for him  is the one thing he needs.

It's not much, but it's enough. In this world of meaningless gestures and empty tears, one meaningful touch is enough.


End file.
